


you and i can make it through the night

by wolfwalkerspirit



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: College AU, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Modern AU, Nightmares, Romance, Sharing a Bed, roommate au, thats it, that’s the fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:01:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27274597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfwalkerspirit/pseuds/wolfwalkerspirit
Summary: “Maybe he’s a little too self-indulgent in the way he settles and arm across Zuko’s waist and pulls him flush to his chest. But it’s comfortable and just feels right, like if he wraps Zuko up in a sturdy embrace, he can shield away the nightmares. And though he stiffens at first, caught off guard, Zuko only takes a handful of moments to relax back into Sokka, letting out a shuddering breath.Sokka falls asleep that night surrounded by Zuko’s warmth and the distinct scent of sugar and cinnamon, and it’s the best sleep he’s ever gotten.“orSix times Zuko and Sokka swap or share beds.
Relationships: Mentioned Suki/Ty Lee, Sokka/Zuko (Avatar), background Katara/Aang
Comments: 54
Kudos: 553





	you and i can make it through the night

Zuko is dying. He’s actually dying. Or, at least, it really feels like he is. After a grueling day of classes and work, he stayed up all night to study for exams, only catching a cat nap for half an hour before he had to be up again to take said exams. Three of them. In one day. And now, a full thirty some odd hours of nothing but studying, exam taking, and total mental exhaustion since he actually slept properly, Zuko wants nothing more than to collapse in bed and pass out for the rest of the day. He’s basically running on caffeine fumes now, from the nastiest black coffee he had ever had in his life, and they’re wearing off way too fast for his liking. 

Still, it isn’t too far of a trudge back to his dorm, and seeing the building around the corner is a seriously sweet relief. When he gets to his door, the walk through the halls a blur, Zuko fumbles around in his pocket for the key, dropping it once then scratching up the knob trying to get it in the lock before he manages to do just that. Though, what greets him when he gets in confuses him a little. It’s dark in the dorm, aside from the crack of light slipping in from the hall through the door before he kicks it shut behind him. It takes far longer than it should have for Zuko to realize he forgot to pull open the curtains that morning, and since his night owl roommate insisted on black out ones, it’s no surprise he can barely see once the door is shut. 

Pushing a hand back through his hair, too exhausted to care, Zuko kicks off his shoes in a messy heap and drops his bag in the entryway—he’ll clean it all up later. That’s all he has the presence of mind to do before he all but collapses into bed, hoping that some sleep will remedy the headache forming at the back of his skull and soothe his strained, tired eyes. It’s barely another moment before he’s dozing off, the last two days catching up with him. 

Then, when Zuko wakes up later, disoriented, to sunlight streaming in through the windows, there’s something distinctly off. For the longest time, he can’t place it, head still slow and foggy with the remnants of sleep. Then, all of a sudden, it hits him like a jolt of ice. The windows are never on his left. The sun is never is his left. The wall isn’t supposed to be on the right—they’re swapped. 

He isn’t in his bed. 

Lurching upright, Zuko scrambles to look around, racing heart easing just a little when he realizes that, yes, he is in fact still in his dorm room. But, he’s on the wrong side. And the blue sheets under his fingertips, even from where he’s sitting up now, smell distinctly like detergent and sea salt, nothing like the cinnamon and spice that tends to cling to his own bed, following him back from the tea shop like a ghost. 

This is Sokka’s bed. He slept the whole night in Sokka’s bed. 

About to lurch out of the bed and rush back to his own, heart pounding for a multitude of reasons now—separate from the initial panic at not knowing where he was—a glimmer of something yellow catches at the top corner of his vision and stops him. Realizing it’s something in his hair, he brushes it out, only for a post it to flutter down into his lap. There‘s a note scrawled across it in familiar, sloppy handwriting, complete with a smiley face and a couple of hearts that Zuko can’t process right now. 

_Be glad I didn’t draw on your face for this!_

__

__

(and stop pulling all-nighters and get some sleep dumbass)

_-Sokka_

Even if an embarrassed heat is creeping up his neck, more than worrying about that, Zuko feels the need to check and make sure that Sokka did not, in fact, draw on his face. Because that sounds exactly like something he would do. Though, that thought leaves his head when he glances over to find his own bed with the blankets pulled back, all rumpled. Which is very much not the way Zuko leaves it, thanks to years of routines and discipline drilled into his head. And he isn’t quite sure why it didn’t register before that if he accidentally, in his exam hazed exhaustion, stumbled into Sokka’s bed and slept there for the rest of the night, that would leave no place for Sokka to go except his open bed. But now that he has made that realization, the blush formerly crawling up his neck returns in earnest. 

Sokka is gone, thankfully—a quick glance at the clock tells him it’s Sokka’s weekly coffee date (platonic date, that is) with Suki. That’s something Zuko is immensely grateful for as he tosses the sticky note in the trash by his desk, going over to sit in his own bed. He doesn’t dare breathe deep enough to see if the sheets smell like Sokka beneath the subtle spice he’s used to. 

(They do. He washes them later that day, something conflicted squirming in his chest.)

Bless him, Sokka mercifully doesn’t bring up the incident. Zuko isn’t sure he could bear the embarrassment if he had. Well, other than one offhand remark about Zuko making sure he gets enough sleep, but that’s tolerable, especially considering the teasing he was already expecting to get for it. He counts himself lucky, and makes a mental note to give Sokka a break the next time he does something stupid, to repay him. 

——————

When the door to his room swings open at half past midnight, the last thing Zuko is expecting is a whole parade of people barging in. Yet, that’s what he gets, the door thrown open while Katara stumbles in with Sokka hanging off her shoulder, an arm wrapped around her neck. Aang is right behind them, hurrying to shut the door behind them and help Katara before Sokka drags them both to the ground, which he looks just moments from doing with the way he sways on unsteady legs. 

“Come in,” Zuko remarks dryly, though there’s no real heat behind it, as he snaps the book he was reading shut. Sokka startles a little at the noise, attention drifting over his way. His eyes look kind of glossy and unfocused and Zuko can smell the alcohol practically wafting off of him from where he’s sitting. And from the way he stumbles forward, dragging Katara with him before Aang can get an arm around his waist, Zuko can only guess how much he drank. 

“Hi, Zuko,” Aang chimes in, cheery attitude not at all affected by the late hour. 

“Sorry, we’ll get out of your hair in a minute,” Katara adds, and she looks genuinely apologetic when she forgoes glaring exasperatedly at Sokka to shoot a glance his way. 

“What happened to him?” Zuko asks. He waves a hand Sokka’s way, setting aside his book; he won’t be getting any more reading done until everything’s settled. In any case, though, he had never known Sokka to be too irresponsible of a drinker. He probably likes to party more than most people Zuko knew, but black-out drunk isn’t exactly his speed. 

“It’s kind of a long story,” Katara says, and before she can clarify any farther, Sokka cuts in, eyes lighting up with recognition.

“Zuzu!” he calls, and pulls out of Katara’s grip to stumble over his way. In an instant, Zuko can feel the heat blazing across his cheeks, no doubt bright red. Damn Azula. He thought Sokka had forgotten about the nickname, but, evidently it stuck. He doesn’t comment, though, hoping Aang and Katara might have missed that little detail. Regardless, Sokka is climbing onto his bed, a little too close for comfort. “You missed me winning against Suki!” he says, somewhere between proud and protesting. 

“Winning against Suki in what?” Zuko asks. For as long as he’s known Sokka, he’s never seen him beat that girl in anything. Not sports, not academics, (even though Sokka is brilliant, barely behind her) not even the silly little fights they seem to get into all over campus—those always end with Sokka, an arm wrenched behind his back or stuck in a headlock, begging for mercy. 

“Drinks,” Sokka supplies, rather unhelpfully. But his eyes glitter when he says it, and he looks so pleased with himself. Zuko can’t help but snort, amused. 

Freed from having to haul Sokka around and keep him upright on his feet, Katara rolls the shoulder he was leaning on once or twice. Without missing a beat, Aang steps up behind her, rubbing circles over the muscle there with a thumb until she relaxes under the pressure. The small smile she gives him in return is so sweet and well-worn that Zuko feels like he’s intruding. Here, in his own room. Ever since they started dating, those two are just always like that, all starry eyed and in love. 

In any case, Katara speaks up to clarify where Sokka didn’t. “He means a drinking game,” she says. 

“And he didn’t beat her,” Aang adds. 

“She drank him under the table and barely looked tipsy,” Katara says, and Zuko can’t tell if she looks impressed or a little horrified by that. 

Now that checks out. Zuko cracks a smile, though, when Sokka vehemently shakes his head. “She did not,” he protests, slurring the words. 

“You know, she kind of scares me,” Zuko admits, steadying Sokka with a hand on his shoulder. Even sitting as he is, he’s still swaying a little, tipping dangerously towards the side of the bed, and Zuko would rather not see him crack his head on the floor. 

Katara laughs a little, and Aang slips the hand from her shoulder down to lace his fingers with hers. “I think that would make her happy to hear,” she chuckles. 

“Did she get home okay?” Zuko asks, worried. The sudden realization hit him that if Katara and Aang were here with him, taking care of Sokka, that probably only left Toph with Suki. As capable as Toph is, she can’t exactly drive Suki home or anything like that. 

“Oh, Ty Lee picked her up.” While she talks, Katara pulls out her phone, something a little smug and knowing in her smile. And when she tosses it over to Zuko, there’s a selfie on the screen that Ty Lee must have sent over of her and Suki in her car. Ty Lee’s beaming, holding up a peace sign, while Suki looks totally unaware of the camera, nuzzled into the other girl’s neck, lips on skin. They’re both in the backseat, he notices, and can only imagine a rather indecent reason why. Zuko blushes a little with the realization. 

He tosses Katara’s phone back to her, running a hand back through his hair to push the worst of it out of his eyes. It helps dispel the heat from his cheeks, too. “I guess she’s in good hands,” he says softly. 

It’s after a moment of quiet that Katara yawns, and looks absolutely put out at the prospect of wrangling Sokka into his own bed. While they were taking, he’d slumped against the wall, then slid down it until he was curled at the foot of the bed like a cat. Somewhere in that conversation, the somewhat bubbly, drunk energy left Sokka in favor of him looking ready to pass out right there. He shifts once, nuzzling into Zuko’s blankets, before he settles with a quiet sigh, and that sight does something to Zuko’s heart. It feels all loose and ready to melt in his chest, and he wants to clutch at the fabric of his shirt there to keep it in check. Instead, his fingers twitch subtly where his hands sit in his lap.

“For god’s sake, Sokka,” Katara mutters under her breath. She just sounds tired, standing back and watching over him. 

“You can go,” Zuko cuts in, then, realizing that might have sounded rude, adds “if you want.” Then, after a beat, “I’ll make sure he’s okay.” 

“You’re sure?” Katara asks, sweet, genuine, even if the relief bleeding into her voice is clear. Sometimes Zuko forgets that it’s probably exhausting being the one looking out for all of them all the time. Katara pulls it off, incredibly, even if it takes a little snapping and glaring sometimes. The least he can do is keep an eye on her brother, make sure he gets in bed properly instead of falling asleep on Zuko’s, legs dangling halfway off the side. 

“Yeah, you go,” he offers, waving a hand dismissively. 

“Thanks, Zuko,” she says. And just after she heads to the door to leave, she turns back, a brow raised and the sharp edge of a grin on her lips. “Or Zuzu, was it?” she asks. 

She should count herself lucky Zuko doesn’t throw his pillow at her. If it was anyone else, he probably would. Instead, he goes red, grumbling about Azula and her dumb nickname. But, when Aang adds a, “bye, Zuzu,” right before he swings the door shut, all bets are off and Zuko gives into the impulse, hurling the pillow at his head. It hits the door instead with a hollow thump, falling down to the ground. 

Letting out a huff, Zuko climbs off the edge of the bed to his feet, pacing to retrieve the pillow. And when he tosses it back to the head of the bed, he stops to look down at Sokka. He’s already fallen asleep, snoring quietly, and he looks so peaceful that Zuko can’t bring himself to wake him up. He reasons that it should be easy enough to ignore the lack of a considering crease between his brows, the lack of an overdone smile on a tough day, but all he can do is look down at Sokka’s relaxed face with something like awe crowding out his rational thought. He should shake Sokka awake, drag him over to his own bed, and fall asleep and forget the whole thing. But, instead, Zuko lets out a breath and gives into a softer side. 

Carefully, he tries to rearrange Sokka’s limbs into something more comfortable, so they’re at least all on the bed, not dangling over the edge, and not bent up at a funny angle like his arm had been. And he makes sure Sokka’s laying on his side, just in case. Because Zuko doesn’t have any idea how much he drank, and even more horrifying than the thought of Sokka vomiting in his bed is the thought of Sokka drowning in said vomit. 

Zuko shivers a little at the image and makes a point to grab the little trash bin that dutifully catches scrap paper under his desk and put it beside his bed instead. Hopefully, in case he needs it in a rush in the morning, hungover Sokka can find it. Thinking on what else he might need (because Zuko promised Katara he would take care of her brother, and he isn’t about to let her down) he snags the bottle of water that was laying amongst a notebook and a hoodie on top of Sokka’s bed. It’s half empty, but it’s late, and that’s good enough for now. He sets it beside the trash can, both at the head of the bed, and looks everything over once, twice, before he’s satisfied enough to worry about finding somewhere to sleep himself. Because it isn’t like he can sleep in his own bed, with Sokka sprawled out across it, and it doesn’t feel right to sleep in Sokka’s without asking first. Even though Sokka had done just that when Zuko had made the embarrassing mistake of not checking which side of the room he was on back during exam season. 

In any case, he gets to his hands and knees beside the bed, fishing through the handful of boxes and bins he keeps under the frame. And, eventually, he comes back from the dusty, dark crevice with exactly what he was looking for, a spare blanket. He steals his pillow back off the head of the bed, too, and spreads everything out in some semblance of a makeshift bed. It’s kind of a sad excuse, and he’ll be laying right on the floor, but it’ll do well enough for the night. 

Not in the mood to read any longer, Zuko just switches of his lamp and lets the darkness engulf the room. Except for the little plastic stars Sokka had recently glued to the ceiling, of course, since those always glow a pale blue and faintly light the space. Normally, Zuko can’t stand the stars, preferring to sleep in undisturbed darkness, but as he lays on the floor, trying to get comfortable, his gaze turns to Sokka, and suddenly they don’t seem so bad. Even if the glow is a little hard to sleep under, the gentle light catches on the slope of Sokka’s cheek and illuminates his profile just enough to see. 

Zuko’s heart gives a funny little turn, and the realization slowly dawns on him that seeing Sokka in his bed is something he could get used to. Though, under different circumstances might be nicer, considering Sokka is probably going to wake up sick and Zuko sore. Still, for the moments he has, he enjoys seeing Sokka look so at peace. And if he stays up a little too long with a melting heart and traitorous thoughts of waking up beside his best friend, that’s no one’s business but his. 

—————

Usually when Sokka wakes up in the middle of the night, it’s with a start, something jolting him out of a deep sleep. A crash of lightning strikes right outside the window, or Zuko drops a textbook in his stupidly late night studying, or some exuberant, drunken laughing bleeds through the walls from the hallway. He’s a pretty heavy sleeper, after all, and not much wakes him up unless it’s loud or jostling enough to startle him awake. So, head all dazed and fuzzy, he can’t figure out why he gradually slips out of sleep in the middle of the night. 

He’s about to brush it off, just roll over and go back to sleep until his alarm goes off in the morning, when something catches at the corner of his consciousness. It’s a quiet noise that he can’t quite place at first; he just knows it isn’t right somehow. Then, his head blearily snaps together the pieces, that it’s coming from Zuko’s side of the room, a rustle of sheets, something quieter hidden behind that. Blinking to see through the dark, Sokka turns to see Zuko shifting in his sleep. Though, it looks kind of restless, not just simply adjusting to get more comfortable. Then, suddenly, realization rings in Sokka’s head when he sorts out exactly what the other, softer noise is. It’s Zuko, quiet whimpers and pained noises occasionally disrupting the quiet stillness laid over the room.

That wakes Sokka up. 

At first, he jolts upright, legs tangled in the sheets, a rush of adrenaline and panic surging through him. With his sleep addled mind, he tries to sort out what might be wrong, running from the probable to the completely ridiculous and out of the question. Though, it’s another moment of wrestling to get out of his sheets and over to Zuko before everything in him slows a bit, realizing it probably isn’t some awful emergency. He knows Zuko has nightmares, that he’s gotten them for a long time, and that somehow twists his heart up and sets it more at ease all at once. There is just a little something different this time, though, because Sokka’s never been woken up by him before, and it’s either a fluke, nothing more than a coincidence, or this nightmare is worse than the others. 

In any case, Sokka doesn’t want to see his sleep disturbed like it is, so he more calmly picks his way out of bed, coming to perch on the edge of Zuko’s instead. He doesn’t have much experience in dealing with nightmares, thankfully, his own or other people’s, but figures Zuko wouldn’t take too kindly to being jostled awake, so he takes a more gentle approach. Slowly setting a hand on Zuko’s shoulder, he rubs small circles against the fabric there with the pad of his thumb, watching for any kind of response with a careful gaze. Zuko still looks kind of restless, shifting under the covers, and his brows are furrowed together, a frown pulling across his lips. 

With the upmost care, Sokka moves to brush the sweat dampened hair out of Zuko’s face. It’s then, fingertips smoothing across his cheeks, his forehead, that Sokka notices a change in his expression. At first, the crease between his brow lightens and disappears, but then it’s only another moment before molten amber eyes, the color warm and swirling, flutter open. 

Oh.

Sokka hadn’t really thought this far ahead. His hand stills on Zuko’s forehead, heart thudding in his chest. He’s kind of invading Zuko’s space here, and waking him up, even if it is from a nightmare. He doesn’t even know if he—if this—is welcome. He just came over without thinking, not wanting Zuko to stay in a nightmare any longer than he has to. 

“Sokka?” Zuko asked, confused, voice all cracked and raspy with sleep. He absently swipes at his eyes, too, brushing away the brimming tears there before they can fall. 

“Yeah,” he replies and slowly pulls his hand back to his side, but doesn’t move from his spot at the corner of Zuko’s bed. “Nightmare?” he asks in return. Though, he can’t pretend he doesn’t already know the answer to that one.

Zuko just nods and, with more purpose this time, rubs at his eyes for a minute, looking kind of out of it. Sokka considers asking if he wants to talk about it, but thinks better of it. It’s late, they’re both tired, and he doesn’t want to put any pressure on Zuko. Of course it isn’t like he would talk if he wasn’t comfortable with it. Still, Sokka decides against it. Instead, he asks, “you okay?” with a small tilt of his head. 

It’s kind of a worryingly long time before Zuko answers, like he had to steel himself or work up the nerve to give the answer he knows is right. Not that there is a right answer, but Sokka knows Zuko thinks there is. Because, from what he’s heard, in Zuko’s house, the right answer was always ‘yes’, was always ‘I’m fine’, was always the strong thing to say. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be alright,” Zuko says, pressing his head back into his pillow and averting his gaze from Sokka’s eyes to the shadows and glow stars on the ceiling. 

Sokka isn’t too happy with that answer. It’s the way it sounds like he’s trying to convince himself more than anyone else. It’s in the ‘I’ll be’ that needs to turn into an ‘I am’ before he’ll be comfortable that Zuko isn’t hiding and internalizing what’s bothering him. Still, he doesn’t want to push too far. So, he starts to get up to leave. But, before he can really stand up, there’s a hand on his sleeve, keeping him in place with the softest of grips. 

Zuko still looks kind of shaken when he catches Sokka’s gaze again, and now, there’s something incredibly vulnerable in his expression, a kind of trust that makes Sokka’s heart feel all soft and melty behind his ribs. “Can you...” Zuko starts, trailing off. It’s dark in the room, but Sokka’s eyes have adjusted a little, and he thinks he can just make out a hint of a blush dusting across Zuko’s cheeks. And, instead of finishing his thought, or trying again, he just pulls the littlest bit on Sokka’s sleeve, guiding him back down to the bed. 

“Anything you want,” Sokka says, one corner of his mouth pulling up in a lopsided smile. Zuko just blushes a little harder, and Sokka can definitely make out the red blooming across his cheeks, the bridge of his nose. If it were the middle of the day, Sokka might tease him on it, but, for once, he keeps his mouth shut and slides in beside Zuko, who lifts the covers in invitation. 

And maybe he’s a little too self-indulgent in the way he settles and arm across Zuko’s waist and pulls him flush to his chest. But it’s comfortable and just feels right, like if he wraps Zuko up in a sturdy embrace, he can shield away the nightmares. And though he stiffens at first, caught off guard, Zuko only takes a handful of moments to relax back into Sokka, letting out a shuddering breath. 

Sokka falls asleep that night surrounded by Zuko’s warmth and the distinct scent of sugar and cinnamon, and it’s the best sleep he’s ever gotten. 

—————————

For the first time in his life, Zuko voluntarily skips class. He can only ever remember missing school once or twice, back when his mother was still around, if he had a fever or a stomach bug. She would stay at his bedside all day, and even if her insistence he sleep and rest was a little overbearing, he appreciated the concern, even if the memories are a little hazy now. After that, his father kept a strict hold on him, demanding Zuko pull himself out of bed no matter how he was feeling and get to school, because no son of his would show weakness. And, somewhere along the line, that mentality was drilled into Zuko’s head. Even in college, now, he doesn’t miss a single class. But, for the first time, he sets down his backpack and slips off his shoes, unable to bring himself to walk out the door. His friend needs him, and Zuko won’t leave him. 

Ever since the morning before, Sokka had been acting off, tired and out of it. By the afternoon, he was clearly coming down with something, the coughs rattling in his chest sounding downright painful. Then, all night, Zuko had woken up intermittently to stifled coughing fits echoing off the walls or dim light from the hall streaming in as Sokka staggered to the bathroom, a sickly ashen sheen to his face. 

Now, glancing at the clock, Zuko can’t even begin to make himself feel guilty for staying back from his class, even when it has already started without him. On the opposite side of the room, Sokka is only looking worse, curled miserably under a heap of blankets that, every few minutes, seem to get kicked to the floor when he starts sweating, then grappled after when he’s shivering a little later. Going to sit on the edge of his own bed, Zuko just considers for a moment. Sokka didn’t ask him to stay, and Zuko doesn’t have the slightest clue what he should be doing. Suddenly, he feels so out of his depth, lost and worried. All he knows is that, when he was standing with a hand on the doorknob, risking a glance back at Sokka, something like fear chilled his heart, and he just couldn’t leave him all alone. 

Though, Sokka rolls over and tucks the blankets halfway over his face, and for the first time, he seems to put together the pieces. His gaze brightens with recognition, then something soft that Zuko can’t quite pick apart washes over his expression. Even with a feverish flush across his nose and somewhat hazy eyes, that look still makes Zuko’s heart beat a little harder. 

“You’re missing class,” Sokka says, slow and considering, even if his voice is a little hoarse around the edges. 

“Yeah,” Zuko replies, just as deliberate, and tries to swallow down a sudden bundle of nerves. What if Sokka thinks he’s pitying him? What if he’d rather be alone? 

Instead of any potential backlash, though, Sokka just sits up a little, still leaning against the mountain of pillows he collected, and looks straight ahead to meet Zuko’s gaze. But, there’s that same soft, crinkly quality to his eyes that always settles the anxiety brewing in Zuko’s stomach and makes him question why he was ever worried in the first place. It makes him think of a certain kind, welcoming smile, and he wishes Sokka felt well enough to be wearing it now. 

“You didn’t have to stay here for me,” Sokka says, but the gratitude in his voice tells a different story. And even just for that, Zuko knows skipping class was definitely the right choice. 

“Yeah, well,” Zuko offers with a shrug.

Sokka gives a little laugh at that, gravelly but there, and he tucks loose, messy hair back behind his ear. It doesn’t stay long, and not tied up in his typical style, his hair’s falling all in his eyes. It’s pretty like that, Zuko realizes with startling clarity. And, with that, he also realizes he’s been looking at Sokka for way too long. Feeling his cheeks flare hot, Zuko hurries to turn his gaze to the ground. “Someone has to make sure you don’t die,” he jokes, even if the more worried side of him partially means it. 

“I’m glad you’re up for the challenge of keeping me alive,” Sokka says, more lighthearted than he’s been all day. Even still, it doesn’t take much longer for him to crumple back under the blankets, coughing so hard Zuko winces at the sound of it. It’s that knock your breath away, make your lungs sting and your ribs ache down to the marrow kind of cough, and Sokka’s pulling in ragged breathes by the end of it. 

Zuko doesn’t say anything more after that, and Sokka, for one of the few times since Zuko has know him, doesn’t say anything either, and that’s a testament to how bad he’s feeling if anything is. For a while, they sit in silence, Zuko switching between reading a book and answering emails and, occasionally, googling remedies for colds, fevers, nausea, whatever he can think of. Making people feel better has never really been Zuko’s strong suit, but damn it all if he isn’t going to try.

At some point, Sokka dozes off, early in the afternoon, and Zuko’s glad to see him get some rest. Considering he was up most of the night, he needs it. It’s then that he takes the time to email his professors, the ones that teach the classes he skipped in the morning, to apologize for being absent and ask for any assignments he needs. Though, he gracefully skirts past his reason for being gone from class, figuring that being scared to leave his sick roommate wouldn’t gather him much sympathy. 

In any case, Zuko sends off the emails and waits, hoping the replies will be merciful. Before they come in, though, his attention shifts back to Sokka in a snap when he hears something of a commotion, blankets rustling and socked feet on the floor. All he really catches is a blur of blue fabric and dark hair before Sokka’s gone, out to the hall again. Zuko had never considered how shitty it would be to be sick in a dorm, having to run down the hall to shared bathrooms anytime he was sick to his stomach, but watching it now, he really does feel for Sokka. It’s awful enough being sick in the comfort of your own home, or as close to Zuko could get to comfort at home—at least it was private, if not relaxing—but being away seems even worse. 

Sokka’s gone long enough that Zuko starts to worry about him, and contemplates going to make sure he’s alright, his own stomach starting to turn a bit with concern. But, just as Zuko’s getting up and heading for his shoes, the door creaks back open, and Sokka trudges in, looking utterly miserable. His hair damp with sweat and falling in his eyes, an ashen drain to his complexion, tired eyes downcast, it’s a look Zuko has never seen on him. Sure, there’s been the fair share of colds floating around campus that either one of them have caught, but nothing like this. It breaks Zuko’s heart, too fragile hidden in his chest, to see Sokka so wiped out by whatever this is. 

Before he even knows what he’s doing, he’s taken Sokka by the hand, and pulls him in close. It a warm hug, Zuko wrapping his arms around Sokka’s shoulders and holding him tight. At first, Sokka weakly pushes back, protests of, “cut it out, you’ll get sick,” sounding gravelly in a cough-worn voice. But Zuko doesn’t budge, because he doesn’t care about getting sick; he’d catch whatever Sokka has in an instant to take it away from him if he could. 

“It’s fine,” Zuko mumbles against Sokka’s hair, and he means it. Sokka looked sincerely like he needed a hug, and so he’s getting one, whether he likes it or not. (That sounds like something Aang would say, he thinks. He’s been rubbing off on Zuko.) And from the way Sokka sinks bonelessly into his embrace after the assurance, it seems safe to say he does, in fact, like it. Sniffling quietly, Sokka buries his nose in the space between Zuko’s neck and shoulder, arms slowly coming to wind around his back. 

Zuko slowly rocks them, shifting his weight from side to side, and tightens his hold just a little. And it seems like they stand that way for a long time, tangled up in a comforting hug, Sokka leaning more and more weight against him as the moments go by, breathing deeper in the crook of Zuko’s shoulder. Eventually though, Sokka’s breath hitches, then comes out in a ragged cough. He curls into Zuko’s chest, fingers digging into the small of his back, coughing until he can’t breathe. All the while, Zuko just holds his shoulders, holds him on his feet, and feels something wrench in his own chest, sharp, biting, digging into his heart. It dawns on him slowly, while Sokka catches his breath after that awful, racking cough dies away, that he might care a little too much. He might feel a little too much. This worry brewing and churning like sludge in his gut, might be more than a roommate should reasonably have. The twisting of his heart might be more than a friendly concern. 

But, for now, those thoughts get tucked away, neatly folded for another time. Because when Sokka looks back up at him with reddened eyes, glossy with unshed tears, there’s little more he can think about than the stab of hurt in his chest. “God, I hate being sick,” he murmurs, voice flinty and fragile, and coughs up a raspy excuse of a laugh. It’s dry, bitter, humorless, but still sounds like him trying to lift the mood, to deflect. Zuko doesn’t take the bait, instead allowing his brows to furrow, his lips to turn down at the corners. 

“It’s better like this, though,” Sokka adds, and for a moment, Zuko doesn’t understand. It’s not until Sokka leans in to rest his forehead against Zuko’s shoulder, tightens his arms in a closer embrace, that Zuko can put together the pieces. It’s better with another person. Better with him. 

“Yeah?” Zuko rasps, because he doesn’t trust himself to say anything more. There’s a dangerous mix of willingness—born from a desire to do anything to make Sokka feel better—and hope fluttering around behind his ribs, and he knows something will spill if he opens his mouth for too long. He can’t help the airy rise of it, pushing up his throat, feelings he should probably pick a better time to express, or rein down and keep locked up for his own safe keeping. 

“Katara used to let me sleep with her when I got sick. That was after...” He stops, stumbles over the sentiment, and Zuko’s heart seizes for a beat, skips over it altogether. He knows what Sokka means, but doesn’t fill in the blanks, doesn’t rush him. “After our mom died,” he says finally, something thick and syrupy to the words. He clears his throat, and Zuko tightens his hold just a little. “Katara loved to fuss over me, checking my temperature, making sure I slept and ate and everything. She was kind of strict and scary,” he chuckles, sounding tired but fond. 

“I don’t think that’s changed much,” Zuko murmurs, a smile in his voice. 

“Yeah,” Sokka says. “But then she’d crawl in bed with me and sing mom’s lullabies or hold my hand until I fell asleep.” After a beat of quiet, he straightens up a bit, and when Zuko catches his gaze, there’s actually something of his usual brightness to it. Just a hint, a glimmer, but it’s there. “It always made me feel better.”

Zuko hardly takes a moment to consider before he’s gently tugging Sokka back towards his bed, pulling back maroon blankets. “You should sit with me then,” he says, in a rare moment of bravery, of decision. Then, he adds, “I mean, if you want to. I just thought- if it would make you feel better...” By the time the jumble of words are out, his cheeks are tinged with warmth, no doubt going a visible pink. 

“I can?” Sokka asks, all sweet and earnest, reminding Zuko all too much of a puppy with wide eyes and a droopy tail, barely risking to be hopeful. He’s not even really a dog person, but even he can’t resist melting puppy dog eyes. Not that he ever planned to from the start. 

“Yeah, come here,” he says in invitation.  
And when he sits down, Sokka follows suit, sticking close. They both get settled, Zuko sliding over to the side to make room for Sokka. It’s a dorm, and the bed is small and a little on the cramped side, but they make it work. After some situating, Sokka ends up laying with his head in Zuko’s lap, curled against his side. Gingerly, Zuko threads his fingers through the ends of Sokka’s hair, slowly working out all the knots and tangles. He methodically works his way up until he can get through the length of it without catching on any snags. 

Zuko hadn’t really noticed it before, but Sokka’s hair is definitely longer now than it was back in high school. He still keeps the sides cut short, and with the rest pulled into a signature wolftail, it’s easy to miss the extra bit of length to it. But now, gently combing through the hair from scalp to tip, Zuko can’t help but notice how it’s grown out. 

Somewhere in the time since they sat down, Sokka closed his eyes, and Zuko wonders if he’s fallen asleep again. But, when he stops with the soothing motion, reaching up to tuck a strand of his own hair back behind his ear, a brilliant blue eye cracks open to meet his gaze. It’s still half-lidded, tired and weary, but definitely awake. Offering a flicker of a smile, Zuko buries his hands back in Sokka’s hair, not missing the way he leans into the touch, eyes fluttering shut again. Even if it’s a bit rattled, there’s a content sigh that falls past Sokka’s lips, and Zuko can feel the warmth of the breath against his thigh. 

“Zuko?” Sokka says quietly, like he doesn’t already have his undivided attention, his whole heart. 

“What is it?” Zuko asks. Gently, he runs his thumbs through the shaven sides of Sokka’s hair, a little surprised with how soft the short strands are. He’d expected it to be a bit rougher. 

Sokka opens his mouth to say something, chokes a little over the cough pushing up his throat instead. He bites it down, sucking in a sharp breath through his nose. All the while, Zuko just moves one hand from its place in Sokka’s hair to hold his hand. Really, he isn’t even sure why he did it, but Sokka holds tightly to his hand, their fingers laced together, so it can’t have been that bad an instinct. Besides, something warm ignites in his chest at the touch, and he feels a little like melting. 

When the coughing passes, Sokka tries again, giving Zuko’s hand a little squeeze. “Seriously, thank you for doing this for me,” he says, so earnest and genuine it knocks Zuko’s words away. For a beat, all he can do is gaze back at Sokka, one hand stilling in his hair, the other caught in a tight hold. Of course he’ll do whatever it takes to make him feel better, he wants to say. It’s no problem at all. There’s no way he could leave him to deal with this on his own.

But none of those come out, and Zuko’s heart is taking up too much room in his chest, filled to the brim with warmth and affection he doesn’t know what to do with. “Yeah,” he finally says, “sure thing.” It’s a little awkward, not really what he wants to say, but Sokka cracks the slightest grin anyway. 

After a handful of beats, Zuko carefully maneuvers Sokka’s head out of his lap, instead shifting down under the covers so they can lie side by side. Though, he never lets go of Sokka’s hand. It’s a little hot under the blanket, especially with Sokka radiating a feverish heat beside him, but he doesn’t mind too much. He just presses his forehead to Sokka’s for a moment, telling himself it’s only to check his temperature, before he settles in. It’s only sometime in the mid-afternoon, but Sokka definitely needs the rest, and Zuko is pretty much chronically sleep deprived, and for once, he can’t find it in himself to deny that a nap sounds really nice. So, with Sokka nuzzling into the crook of his neck, Zuko closes his eyes and lets out a long, contented breath. His lips just barely brush Sokka’s hair, and if he happens to press a quick kiss to the top of his head, then no one has to know. 

(Three days later, Zuko wakes up with the worst headache he’s ever experienced, coughing until his lungs feel like they’re peeling raw from the inside out. He becomes far more acquainted with the bathroom floor than he’d ever want to, sweats through half his clothes and shivers in the other half. And he doesn’t regret catching Sokka’s cold for an instant.)

———————

Insomnia is a beast Zuko hasn’t wrestled with in a long time. Back when he was a kid, back at home, there were so many restless nights spent staring up at the ceiling, braiding and unbraiding strands of hair, chewing on his nails, reading under the covers, doing anything he could to keep his mind busy so he didn’t drive himself crazy wishing he was asleep. Not that any of that really helped, because he would always come around to a rosy sunrise dreading the exhausting day and desperately wishing he could just fall asleep without a struggle for once. 

Once he moved out though, got away from the pressures his father heaped and loomed over him, got away from the low current of lingering fear that came from knowing Azula was planning and scheming and thinking in the next room over, sleep slowly got easier and easier. It still wasn’t really something that came naturally to Zuko, and he’d often find ways to avoid sleeping, having so many other priorities from classes to work to studying, but when he finally did lay down in bed, there were considerably less sleepless night, until they basically disappeared altogether. 

Now, though, Zuko stares up at Sokka’s silly little glow stars on the ceiling and gives into the temptation of wishing he could just fall asleep. It’s been hours, and morning classes are creeping closer with every minute that he stays awake. And that feeling of sand running through the hourglass, time slipping away, doesn’t help the ball of frayed nerves and frustration slowly building in his chest. For a while, he was just tired and a little put out, but the longer he goes, feeling the minutes tick by, the more it starts to get under his skin. And he kind of feels like crying, eyes just barely prickling with heat, because he thought he was over this, but here it is again. Just like the nightmares that fade but never disappear, the insomnia comes back to haunt him just when he starts to forget what it’s like to feel it’s constant pressures. 

Giving an annoyed huff, Zuko turns over on his side, and between the threads of moonlight spilling through the blackout curtains Sokka forgot to close and his faintly glowing stars, Zuko can just make out his silhouette across the room. From where Zuko is, at least, it looks like he’s asleep, chest rising and falling with even breaths, laying still and quiet. Something envious bubbles in Zuko’s chest, but it isn’t alone, warmth and longing settling there too. His traitorous mind is getting ideas again, and at first, Zuko stomps them down. But, they’re just too tempting. All he can think is that the times he’s slept with Sokka at his back, surrounded by warmth, it’s been easy. He feels safe like that, comfortable, and wakes up feeling rested instead of groggy and disoriented like he often does when he gets too little sleep. 

His heart kicks around in his chest, at odds with his more logical head. He doesn’t really want to bother Sokka, and just the thought of asking him to come over because he can’t sleep has a blush rising to his cheeks, but at the same time, Zuko is kind of getting desperate, exhausted and exasperated. Taking up a fistful of his sheets, he tries to work up the courage, because he just really, really wants to get some sleep before his polisci test tomorrow. 

Eventually, the weariness wins out, and Zuko throws off the covers, sitting up and pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. Taking a sharp breath in through his nose, Zuko gets to his feet and walks across the tiny room, coming to a stop beside Sokka’s bed. It takes him another minute to steel himself, to settle the way his heart is beating hard against his ribs. But, he’s tired and determined and he drops a hand to Sokka’s shoulder before he can change his mind. Gently, but with enough force to wake him up—Sokka can sleep through a surprisingly large amount of disturbances, not at all like Zuko who wakes up at the smallest sounds—he shakes Sokka’s shoulder. 

It’s only a moment before familiar blue eyes are gazing back at him, and Sokka’s propping himself up on an elbow. After a jaw-cracking yawn, Sokka raises a brow, blinking at Zuko. “Hey, what’s up? Something wrong?” he asks, genuine concern in his voice. 

“Sorry, no,” Zuko says, more on reflex then anything. “I mean- well, yes, but it’s not like an actual, real problem or anything,” he stumbles to correct. The words feel like they stick on his tongue, jumbling and hardly coming out right. He hates that it’s a familiar feeling. 

Sokka seems just a little more awake now, and he sits up, scooting to the side and patting the space beside him invitingly. For a moment, Zuko just stares, heart tripping over itself, before he sits down on the edge of the bed. It’s warm where Sokka was just laying, and Zuko has to pull in a deep breath and steel himself not to think about that too long. 

“I’m not sure I get what you mean, but you can talk about it if you want?” Sokka offers. And for a moment, Zuko’s just absolutely struck with how grateful he is for Sokka. Zuko just woke him up in the middle of the night for something so trivial and stupid, and instead of turning him away or getting mad, he offers an ear to listen. And he does it without judgement, without rushing him. For a moment, Zuko just curls his fingers in the sheets, wondering how he can feel so much love and admiration for this one person without spilling over with it. It’s such a simple thing, but Zuko knows better than to take it for granted. 

“It’s nothing,” Zuko says, again more out of habit. But when Sokka gives him that look, the one that says he’d better reconsider, try again, Zuko does. “I just- I can’t sleep, and I have a big test tomorrow and I don’t know what else to do because the more I think about it the more my chest knots up but you always make me feel better, and I...” It feels like too long before Zuko realizes he’s rambling, just dumping everything off his chest, and he eventually trails off. And when it registers what he said, about Sokka making him feel better, the tips of his ears burn. “I shouldn’t have woken you up,” he eventually mumbles, because there is some level of guilt there, beneath the embarrassment. 

“You can seriously wake me up whenever you want,” Sokka says, a grinning coming across his lips. He hooks an arm around Zuko’s neck, pulls him in close and playfully ruffles his already messy hair. For his part, all Zuko can do is flush a little deeper and weakly try to push out of Sokka’s hold. He doesn’t get free, but then again, he isn’t sure he really wants to when it comes down to it. Sokka’s laughing now, and it’s warm and infectious and Zuko can’t help but huff a small laugh of his own. After a beat, though, Sokka pulls Zuko’s head down to rest on his shoulder, resting his cheek against Zuko’s hair. 

The laugher falls away and leaves them in a room full of quiet and potential. Zuko’s heart beats high in his chest, hopeful, anticipatory. And, pulled up to Sokka’s side, he can feel the long breath Sokka pulls in and lets out again, slow and steadying. For some reason, it puts him at ease, and Zuko feels closer to peace and comfort, to sleep, than he has all night. 

“You want to sleep with me?” Sokka asks, and it sounds so warm and inviting. 

“You wouldn’t mind?” Zuko asks in return. As comfortable as he is, leaning against Sokka’s side, tucked into the crook of his neck, he wishes he could see Sokka’s face right now, his eyes. 

“Are you kidding?” The words come with a soft, fond chuckle that warms Zuko’s heart. “You’re so warm. And you always smell like cinnamon. And, if anyone needs sleep, it’s definitely you.” 

Zuko could seriously cry. His eyes mist over, and he’s suddenly very relieved that Sokka actually can’t see him. He just doesn’t know what he did to deserve a friend like Sokka. Even if they have their disagreements and differences, there’s no one that understand him better, no one who’s so patient with him, no one who knows how to make him feel better like Sokka does. Friends don’t come easily to Zuko, but Sokka does. 

“Here, get in here,” Sokka says after a beat, sliding back down beneath the covers and leaving room for Zuko. 

Zuko lays down next to him, pulse jumping a bit, ticking up faster. But then Sokka dramatically blows a piece of Zuko’s hair out of his face, laughs lowly, and everything seems a little easier somehow, a little calmer. Zuko resists the urge to flip his loose hair back into Sokka’s face, just for the heck of it, and instead settles in a little farther, letting Sokka hold onto the arm closest to him. He lets out a breath, and it feels like he can breathe easier now. 

He’s hardly laid there a moment or two before drowsiness is washing over him, so much better than the dark frustration brewing, bubbling, rising in his gut before while he stared holes into the ceiling. “Thanks, Sokka,” he manages to mumble, the words starting to slur together just a bit. And it’s just another moment before Zuko’s dozing off, finally getting some much needed sleep. 

——————

Bingewatching all sorts of shows on Netflix has become something of a routine for Sokka and Zuko. After essays have been written, equations solved, and his brain is just generally burnt out for the day, Sokka cracks open his laptop, and sometimes a bag of popcorn, and scrolls through the shows until one catches his eye. More often than not, he has to pry Zuko away from whatever he’s working on, but the fight he puts up usually seems more for show, because Zuko is almost always the most invested in what they’re watching. He’s kind of partial to The Witcher, says it’s his favorite, where Sokka will watch just about anything, from fun sitcoms to the trashiest soaps. Though, Sokka’s still kind of pissed about them taking down Friends—he used to watch it with Katara before he left for college, and it feels a little personal, like a memory stolen away. 

In any case, Sokka glances at the time in the bottom corner of his screen for the first time since getting sucked into the never ending loop that is the next episode button, and actually has to rub his eyes and look again, not sure when it got so late. It’s well past four in the morning, and he knows Mr. Rise-with-the-sun Zuko isn’t going to be particularly keen on watching more, especially when he normally would have been in bed hours ago. Even now, he’s leaning against Sokka, slid down so that his head’s resting on his upper arm. Though, his eyes still look bright, even with the late hour, and not only because they’re reflecting the flashing colors on the screen. He got just as sucked in as Sokka did, no idea how quickly the time passed. 

Clicking back away from the temptation of the next episode option, Sokka resolves it’s probably for the best to finish the season another day. Though, Zuko gives him a curious look, like he was expecting they’d keep watching. It’s kind of cute. 

“I didn’t realize it’d gotten so late,” Sokka says, stretching his arms up over his head. His back gives a satisfying pop, and he figures sitting up against his headboard for so long can’t really be good for his spine, but he only gets to be young and stupid once, and if that means staying up too late with Zuko digging into the depths of their Netflix backlog, he’s all too happy to do it. It sounds more fun then getting drunk at a bunch of college parties, anyway. 

“Wait, is it Sunday or Monday?” Zuko questions, squinting at the computer clock. Sokka watches him fumble around for her phone, realize it’s still on his desk, and look so put out with the prospect at getting up to get it. With the furrow of his brows, and the pout, he looks like someone asked him to do a monumental favor. Though, Sokka understands; sometimes getting up and walking a few feet feels like such a hassle.

He laughs, low in his chest, and snags his own phone to check the date. “It’s technically Sunday now, so no classes in the morning,” Sokka hums, and it’s a relief to see it. His Monday classes start at eight, and he doesn’t really think he can be functional on hardly three hours of sleep, much less actually learn and remember anything. On those days, he’s lucky enough just to make it to a coffee shop in once piece before he’s had any caffeine. 

“Thank god.” Letting out a relieved sigh, Zuko leans back and rubs at his eyes, sitting up a little straighter. 

Sokka misses the warmth of him at his side, but keeps quiet and watches him run a hand through his messy hair instead. It’s funny, how he never gets tired of watching Zuko, in harsh screen neon, or soft morning sun rays. No matter the time or light, he’s always a welcome sight, and Sokka feels like something restless in him settles a little bit when he’s nearby. He doesn’t really understand it, not fully, but knows Zuko is meant to be a permanent fixture in his life. He wants to binge crappy television and drink coffee (or tea) and talk about stupid things with Zuko forever. And sitting in bed, Netflix asking if he’s still watching, at an ungodly hour of the morning, Sokka realizes there’s a lot of love in his heart for Zuko. Maybe more than there should be, to just call him a friend. 

That thought rattles him and grounds him all at once, and he’s so caught up in it that he doesn’t hear what Zuko says next. All he knows is that when the bed shifts and weight and warmth disappear from his side, Sokka reaches out. Just catching Zuko by the hand, before he can get up and leave, he keeps a tight hold for an instant before letting go, realizing what he’s doing. 

“Why don’t you stay?” he suggests, the words coming out so much more casual and collected than he feels. That isn’t what he intended to say—he doesn’t even know what he intended to say—but it feels like a break in the rules, somehow. They’ve swapped beds, shared beds, in the past before, but that was different. There was always something wrong, then; Zuko had a nightmare, or Sokka was sicker than he’d been in a long, long time. It was something reserved for shitty days and extenuating circumstances, and now Sokka’s breaking that rule, just asking Zuko to stay because he wants him too. 

Though, Zuko doesn’t shy away, doesn’t even ask why. He just meets Sokka’s gaze, amber eyes searching, and gives a soft nod. It’s only a moment before he’s settling back in, and Sokka pushes the laptop to the side of the bed, shoving it in the crack between the wall and the mattress. And when he moves to lie down, too, pressed close to Zuko, he can’t help the longing way his heart twists in his chest. Because Zuko’s laying facing him, with those warm, inviting eyes gently sweeping over him. A shiver runs down Sokka’s spine at the way Zuko looks him up and down, or, at least from his eyes to the blanket at his shoulder and back up. He swallows dryly, letting out a breath, and realizes this is the first time Zuko hasn’t either laid on his back or the opposite side, facing squarely away from Sokka. It just feels so different like this, the sliver of space between them charged, heated, vulnerable. 

Intimate. 

The word rings in Sokka’s head, and for a moment, he has to close his eyes, pull in a steadying breath through his nose just to keep from... From what? Sokka doesn’t know, but his heart feels ready to burst in his chest and he’s acting on impulse now, even as they’re just laying in bed, the gentle scent of Zuko’s cinnamon mixing with Sokka clean, crisp sea salt. 

And it’s listening to his impulses that has Sokka leaning in closer. His eyes fall shut, and before he even really registers the weight of what he’s doing, his lips find Zuko’s. And through whatever affectionate gaze is clouding his mind, he expects Zuko to tense, to break away, to run back to his side of the room, the safety of his own bed. But Zuko just absolutely _melts_. He doesn’t run, just kisses Sokka back, slow and warm. And when Sokka feels a hand coming to brush his jaw, push up into his hair, it’s all he can do to keep from crying because nothing has ever felt so good, so right, in his life. 

They need to talk. They need to talk about this and what it means and what’s next, but right now, Sokka just revels in the feel of Zuko’s soft kiss, his fingers carding through his hair. Sokka reaches out too, cupping Zuko’s face in his hands. And when they break apart, Zuko breathing a little harder, bright eyes fluttering open, he feels like he’s holding the world. 

There’s something so warm suffusing through Sokka’s chest, and it unfurls the widest smile on his face as the reality of all of this sinks in. He kissed Zuko. Zuko kissed him back. And, now, there are no rushed apologizes, insistences that it was all a mistake. There’s just their quiet breaths on the air and the overjoyed beat of Sokka’s heart in his ears. Even he can’t find it in himself to say anything, absolutely speechless, breathless. 

Zuko eventually breaks out in a little grin, too, once the awed disbelief slowly falls from his features, and Sokka swears its the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. And now, even with the late hour, sleep feels like the farthest thing from his mind, buzzing with hope and budding potential. He knows he shouldn’t get ahead of himself, but that doesn’t stop Sokka from leaping in over his head anyway, because if there’s one right thing in this world, it’s Zuko at his side. As friends, as more, they belong together, or at least Sokka believes it. 

After a handful of moments, it seems to catch up to Zuko what just happened, and his cheeks go a rosy pink. Nestling in close, he tucks his head under Sokka’s chin, his breath warm against Sokka’s throat. Throwing an arm around Zuko’s shoulders, Sokka feels like he could just melt with all this warmth in his chest, all around him, everything feeling loose and soft. 

They can talk in the morning, he decides, because it isn’t much time at all before Zuko’s dozing against his chest. But whatever comes of this, Sokka’s happy. Whatever Zuko wants from him, whatever Zuko wants to be to him, he’ll take it. Because there’s nothing he wants more than to fall asleep like this every night. 

Because this? This is perfect.


End file.
